Burning Angels
by R.M.Weiss
Summary: In a city being torn apart by violence stemming from the yakuza and black market, dectective Yusuke Urameshi must find a way to put an end to it all. AU. M/M. Yusuke/Itsuki, side of Hiei/Kurama
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do ****not**** own ****Yu Yu Hakusho****; I make no profit from this story.**

**Be advised: Alternate Universe**

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Burning Angels  
by R. M. Weiss 

Chapter 1:

Rain spattered against the window in a harsh pattern created by the wind. It was like this every night for the past week, like some divine power was telling them to stop from continuing on with their plans. Leaning his arms against the glass, the green haired man frowned and let out a quiet sigh. In the background he could hear the deep rumbling voice playing through the speakers on the antique record player and the lyrics rang in his ears.

"If you're done woolgathering perhaps you'd like to join us, Gatekeeper?" 

Closing his eyes, Itsuki bumped his forehead against the glass, gripping the window sill. "Does it really matter where I stand? I can hear you fine, Gourmet." 

"Itsuki-san, please sit," a thin blonde spoke up, rousing himself from his chair and attempting to stand, only to have his shoulders grabbed and be forced back into his seat.

The golden eyed man gave up the internal struggle he'd been waging and faced his companions. He couldn't let their second youngest member put himself through any more pain; the boy had proven his worth to the team and had nearly lost his life doing so. Kamiya had warned them all not to let the teen exert himself for no reason, and Itsuki intended to honor the good doctor's request, owing it not only to Mitarai but to his now dead lover.

'_Take care of them and they will take care of you._'

The words were an invisible slap to his face and sent him into motion, slipping into a seat by Mitarai who simply graced him with a thankful smile before returning his attention to their new leader.

"It's been five weeks, Itsuki, mourn like a widowed wife if you must but don't bring it in here," Sadao instructed. Ever since Sensui's death at their warehouse lair he had been asserting himself in the position as leader of their unit, determined to work his way up the ladder into becoming a _kumicho_. The odds had been stacked against him yet Gourmet had found a way to use the grief suffered by the rest of the group to his advantage. With Itsuki lost to the claws of heartache, Sadao had quickly gone and sought the other crime bosses and gained their favor. He was going to have to work to keep it, the other _kumicho_ around their territory still unsure of his talents and much more biased towards Itsuki whom they had known far longer. If anything, the other kumicho would prefer to have Sadao as nothing higher than a _fuku-honbucho_.

Turning his black eyes on Itsuki, Gourmet felt his lips quirk. The old second-in-command would be no problem for him. The fire in those gold eyes had already faded, and Gourmet had a sneaking suspicion that soon Itsuki would be joining Sensui. 

"Is there something you wanted to talk to us about?" Hagiri snapped, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room. Sitting on the soft sofa next to brown haired and wide eyed Amanuma, he shifted restlessly, wincing when his wounded arm was jostled the wrong way. He had been shot in the warehouse scuffle, though his wounds were superficial compared to the near evisceration suffered by Mitarai.

Having drifted off, Itsuki opened his eyes and shot an unreadable glance at the group's professional sniper. It was rare that the teen let anything bother him, and Itsuki knew the only reason Hagiri was speaking up was because he was in pain. Making to stand, he rolled down the sleeves of his pressed linen shirt.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sadao asked, startled by Itsuki's abrupt standing. 

"It's no business of yours," the man replied coolly, pulling his jacket on. He would not stay any longer and have Gourmet dangle them all on a string before getting to the point of the meeting. If he left then there was a strong chance that their new leader would dismiss everyone for the night.

With a wave of his hand, Itsuki motioned for Amanuma to follow him, taking the boy by the shoulders the second he was in reach. '_He won't go on if I take you with me,_' he thought, gently pushing the boy towards the front door of the apartment. '_He wouldn't break the rules Sensui put in place. Kamiya would storm out and Hagiri wouldn't listen if he did. Mitarai would leave with Kamiya._'

"Should we have left?" Amanuma asked as the door closed tightly behind them. Looking up at Itsuki, he felt a pang of sadness pull at his heart. He knew how much Itsuki had loved Sensui, it was hard not to know since he had been living with them for the past two years, taken in off the streets and treated as if he was their son. Thinking about Sensui's death, Amanuma felt as if he had lost his father all over again. Shoulders tensing as he felt the sudden urge to cry wash over him, the boy fisted his hands at his sides, moving closer to Itsuki.

The movement did not go unnoticed by the golden eyed man, and Itsuki felt his own heart ache as he witnessed the boy's obvious distress. Pulling Amanuma against his side, he held his hand, unfolding it from the tight fist that it had clenched in. "Let's just get home," Itsuki said in as calm a voice as he could muster. 

The boy sniffled and clutched harder at his guardian's hand. Neither of them noticed the black car sitting across the street as they exited the tall building.

- - - 

"Hiei….Hiei, wake up," Kurama whispered, lightly touching his partner's shoulder. They had been sitting in their undercover car for the past four hours and finally they had hit the jackpot. Tonight was their big break. They had the word from the chief of police to track any of the _boryokudan_, and on the top of their list was the Seventh Shinobu-gumi, though considering the recent death of the kumicho, its name would soon become 'Eighth Shinobu-gumi.'

Opening his eyes even before Kurama's hand touched his shoulder; Hiei quickly scanned the scene before him. Itsuki, Sensui's _saiko komon_, was walking away from them, his hand gripping tightly to a young boy's. Briefly part of his mind began to consider the possibility of the boy being some kind of bait to ward off the police, yet his gut told him that the brown haired child was more likely someone's son learning the business of the boryokudan. Why Itsuki had the child with him was beyond Hiei, but he wouldn't dwell on such matters for now. Shifting the car into drive, he began to ease out of the space he had claimed hours ago, not bothering to warn Kurama who jolted forward and nearly hit the dashboard. 

"If you get close enough I'll try and snap a few pictures of their license plate if they have a car. If we can find out where it's registered to then maybe we can go in and plant a tracker," the read head commented the moment he recovered from his sudden lurch forward.

"Hn."

"We're not going to make the light if you keep going this slow."

"Well then you can drive," Hiei replied, letting go of the wheel.

Reaching out, Kurama grabbed it in a panic, "Hiei! You just got you license! Do you want to lose it already and get into an accident?"

"I never wanted it in the first place."

Sighing softly, Kurama pushed on Hiei's knee to signal him to break. "Koenma's orders, Hiei, you know that. We couldn't say 'no', not with the contracts he has over our heads."

Keeping his foot firmly pressed down on the break, Hiei glared at the red traffic light that had stopped their extremely low-speed pursuit of Itsuki. Shifting as he realized Kurama's hand had yet to move from his knee, he let out a barely audible grunt as the red head slid his hand back to lay a teasing touch on Hiei's fabric covered crotch.

"What do you think you're doing, fox?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Passing time," Kurama replied with a slight smile. It was just like old times for a moment, before they had been picked up and sentenced to working for the police. Back then they had run a very lucrative business that dealt with stealing priceless items and selling them on the black market, a business that crumbled the day the city's most promising up-and-coming detective blew their plans wide open. 

Hiei switched his foot to the gas pedal the second the light changed, maneuvering into the next lane over so he could pull into the parking garage that he had last spotted their quarry entering. 

"Park here. We'll walk up," the green eyed man in the driver's seat said, gesturing towards a vacant spot on their right as they cleared the third level of the building. If it was possible Kurama wanted to walk right by the now un-ranked yakuza member, hopefully getting enough time to glimpse at Itsuki's car. It would be less suspicious if he was walking, and with Hiei there dressed in plain clothes they would look like two friends simply hanging out.

Slipping his black pea coat the red head took a moment to tie his hair up in a quick pony tail and slip on a pair of fake glasses. Grabbing his gun out of the glove compartment he slid it into the hidden inside pocket of his jacket. He wouldn't take a chance at being immediately recognized or caught unarmed. "Shall we?"

Hiei fixed his shoulder holster and pulled his loose jacket over it, stepping out of the car without bothering to respond, his actions speaking loud enough on their own.

A series of rapid gun shots rang out as they rounded the corner to the fourth parking level. The squeal of tires and smell of burning rubber being the only warning they had as a car came barreling by, flying over the speed bump in front of it and roaring out of the building as fast as it could.

Sharing a look, the ex-cons broke into a sprint, running towards the car at the very end of the floor that blared a high and constant panic alarm, the three cars around it also screaming their own warnings.

Pulling out his cell phone, Kurama quickly punched in Koenma's number, using his shoulder to hold the phone as he drew his gun out of his pocket. "Sir we have a situation!" he called, skidding to a halt when he reached the car.

Having run a little faster than Kurama, Hiei was kneeling on the ground, restraining the struggling brown haired child they had seen earlier, the boy screaming and crying and begging them to do something.

On the ground behind the hysterical boy, Itsuki lay in a crumpled heap, blood spilling from the wounds left behind by the bullets that had torn into his chest and abdomen. The dark green car behind him smeared with blood, the back window broken and the exterior punctured by a spray of bullets.

Frozen, the redhead found himself quickly stripping out of his jacket, his gun lying forgotten on the floor. Getting down beside the fallen yakuza he put pressure on as many wounds as he could, "Koenma," he called into the phone, "get me an ambulance. We have a man down."

TBC...

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A short first chapter, I just want to get a reaction from people and see if they think I should continue.


	2. Chapter 2

I'd like to thank Self-Proclaimed Everything, BlueUtopiah, thoth-moon, and MysticChaos for their reviews.

**Disclaimer: I do ****not**** own ****Yu Yu Hakusho****; I make no profit from this story.**

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Burning Angels  
by R. M. Weiss

Chapter 2:

"Is that everything?" Koenma asked, brushing chestnut hair from his eyes. He had ordered the ambulance Kurama had called for and then nearly flown from his office so he could reach before anyone else. He never imagined a simple surveillance case would turn into the nightmare it had just become. Officially they had nothing on Itsuki, no evidence to link him to any crimes, the man's record sparkling clean. If nothing else, Sensui had taken extremely good care of his men, particularly his _saiko komon_. Scratching the tattoo on his forehead, the youngest man ever to be appointed chief of police let out an aggravated sigh. A wanted yakuza member was all but with in their grasp and he'd be damned if they let Itsuki slip away this time.

Noting the distant look in Koenma's eyes, Kurama took his time to radio in a call to the ambulance that had taken Itsuki away and get a status report. Listening to the static laced voice on the other end tell him that they were fighting to stabilize the man, the redhead shot a glance at Koenma before handing the radio back to his partner. "Sir, he's in critical condition. We'll be lucky if he pulls through. From what I saw, he had five chest wounds, not to mention the strays that clipped his legs. Whoever did the drive-by didn't want to leave any chance Itsuki was going to survive."

"Then they must have miscalculated," the Chief replied. "Someone clearly fucked up."

The redhead nodded hesitantly and excused himself as he saw Hiei gesture for him to come over. "May I, sir?" he asked Koenma, knowing the Chief had seen the motion.

Scratching the back of his neck, the brunette nodded, "Of course…Oh, Kurama?"

"Yes sir?"

"I want a report on what happened in my office sitting on my desk by ten."

Promising to get the report done as soon as possible, the emerald eyed man hurried over to where his partner stood waiting. Hiei was leaning against a police cruiser, his hands jammed into his pockets as his eyes took in every detail of the parking garage.

"Hiei?" Kurama murmured as he slid up onto the hood of the cruiser.

The ex-con in question folded his arms across his chest. "Urameshi," he said slowly, "he's still in the hospital."

Knowing that it was more of a statement of fact than a question, the redhead waited for Hiei to continue.

"Sensui put him in the hospital. Itsuki is guilty by association."

"Yusuke wouldn't take something out on Itsuki," the redhead replied.

Snorting, Hiei tensed, a slight tightening of the muscles in his neck and shoulders. "You know what coming close to death can do to someone."

The words were like a wash of ice water over Kurama's head. Reaching out, he settled a hand on Hiei's folded arms, thumb moving in a soothing circle. "Don't think about that," he whispered, moving closer, lightly resting his head on Hiei's shoulder. Kurama wanted to put a brake on Hiei's thoughts, knowing they had strayed to a night long ago when he had taken a bullet from Hiei's gun, a bullet that had been meant for the nosy detective that had been snooping around their apartment. The metal casing had ripped into his abdomen and nicked the soft lining of his stomach. Kurama knew that Hiei had never forgiven himself for that night, the knowledge of how close the redhead had come to dying burning itself into his memory so that he would never forget it.

In a rare show of affection, Hiei took Kurama's hand and given it a light squeeze. It was the most he could offer until they got home. Tonight could have been another close call, if Kurama had run ahead, if the car had stopped and gone after them. There were so many 'ifs'.

Feeling the tension slowly drain from his partner's body, Kurama smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek when he was sure no one was watching. His gut told him that tonight they'd both be up for a little while longer than usual. It was nothing new, the need to reaffirm one's existence through sex, and the redhead was more than willing to give it if that's what Hiei would need to push all thoughts of guilt and brooding to the back of his mind.

- - -

The monitor blipped softly, ticking away a now steady heart beat. White sheets that smelled of sterile soap were pulled up high, carefully placed over tubes and fresh stitches closing surgical incisions. Drifting unconscious from pain that was managed by morphine, Itsuki never heard the door open or the soft limping gate that approached his bed.

Amanuma looked down at the still form of his guardian, watching the steady rise and fall of the man's chest. He had told the police all he remembered about the shooting, how he had been in the car waiting for Itsuki to come around and drive when the other car had sailed by, a spray of bullets coming from the passenger side window. He hadn't been able to see who it was that drove by, he had tucked himself between the seats in the back, lying on the floor to protect himself from the shattered glass. When he had heard the car roll away he had gotten out and seen the green haired man on the ground, and then had been restrained by a cop as he tried to reach for his guardian.

Sniffling back tears that blurred his vision, the boy rubbed hard at his eyes. In his head he could hear Sensui's voice, telling him to be strong and not cry. It was just so hard not to. The tears he was fighting built up more as he heard the door behind him click open. Turning around, he could only make out the blurry outline of a man with short black hair messily slicked by a hand and the aid of water. Amanuma knew on some logical level that this was not Sensui back from the dead, but as he saw the blurred figure take a step inside the room he found that he didn't care. In his mind, this person was his adoptive-father, and in a heart beat he ran across the room and grabbed hold of hospital issued pants, clinging and crying into the fabric, cheek pressed against the warmth of skin beneath.

The man who had entered the quiet room looked down with confusion at the boy. He had made his way from his room two floors down on sheer willpower, and the added weight to his still unstable legs was enough to make him have to work hard to keep his balance. Yusuke had been out of commission for the past few weeks ever since the warehouse shoot out, stuck in his bed unable to walk more than a few shuffling steps at a time because of the surgery on his right leg to repair his major artery that was hit by a stray bullet.

Of course, healing wounds and unused muscles meant nothing to him when he heard who was being housed in a room over his head. The brown eyed man had bribed the nurse taking his vitals and had her help him up to the private suite that was yet to be guarded by an officer from the local precinct.

It was strange to see the man who had to vehemently protected one of the most influential and feared _kumicho_ lying vulnerable and still in a hospital bed. In the warehouse, the _saiko komon_ had been the one Yusuke had found the hardest to get past. The detective had hit the man twice with a bullet, he was sure of that, and yet each time the other had gotten up and come at him again, trying to give Sensui time to escape.

Thinking back on the shootout, Yusuke felt a twinge of pain in his shoulder, his arm which hung in a cast giving a start to the sudden pulse. Closing brown eyes, the detective let out a heavy sigh laced with pain before reaching out with his good hand to gently push the crying child from his legs. "Easy kid," he murmured, looking down into the boy's red-rimmed eyes.

Amanuma swallowed hard around the lump in his throat as he heard the man speak. The voice was so different from Sensui's, and in a hairsbreadth of time the brown haired child remembered that Sensui was dead and this man, who he could now see clearly through half-dried eyes, was the city's up and coming detective, Yusuke Urameshi.

Stepping away, the boy felt anger replace his sadness. Like an infection it spread from the pit of his stomach through his body. Backing up until he hit the edge of Itsuki's bed, Amanuma felt a scowl appear on his face. Determined to protect the unconscious man if need be, he wiped his nose across the back of his sleeve and crouched ever so slightly, getting ready to spring forward. Though he was the youngest in the group and had never been left unsupervised during the meetings between the Seventh Shinobu-gumi, he wasn't completely helpless.

When he had been brought home that night two years ago, Amanuma had been a pathetic malnourished child. He had lived on the streets for a while, his parents having died in an accident four months earlier, and he hadn't known a parent's tender care until a tall man with black hair and tanned skin had come up to him and extended a hand in friendship. For the next two months he had worked running errands for the quiet man, until one night he was offered a place to sleep. The boy had been skeptical about going with Sensui, but something inside him had urged him to follow the man that night, and he knew now that he would never regret his decision. That night had been the first night of the next two years in which he would be groomed to become Sensui's successor, and part of that job had included training in self-defense. Lowering his eyes, Amanuma planted his feet a little firmer on the floor as he continued to think back.

Yusuke noticed the change in the boy's posture, recognizing the hunched over shoulders and subtle shift in weight from toe to heel. He had used the same pose when he was a child trying to fend off the bullies at school and establish himself as the kid no one wanted to mess around with. Feeling a grin tug at the corner of his lips, brown eyes closed briefly as he rubbed the back of his neck with a clammy hand, "Hey now, brat, I'm not going to do anything."

"Stay away," the boy snapped, inching closer towards the hospital bed, nearly climbing onto it.

Taking a step closer, Yusuke's grin morphed into a frown when he noticed the boy tense even more. It was clear that Amanuma wasn't fooling around, and if the detective pushed his luck he'd find himself being dashed to the floor by a boy not much higher than his waist line.

"I'm not here to kill him," Yusuke said after a moment, turning his chocolate eyes on Itsuki's pallid face. The green haired _saiko komon_ lay still as a corpse in the bed, the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest hardly disturbing the sheets that covered him. Someone, most likely a nurse, had tied his hair back in a messy ponytail, emphasizing the hollows of his cheeks even more. The last five weeks seemed to have taken their toll on the man, and Yusuke felt his mind drift to wondering just how devoted Itsuki had been to his _kumicho_.

'_Of course the fact he just got a round of bullets in his body might also be what's keeping him from winning any beauty pageants_,' the detective thought.

"I said stay away!"

Coming back from his thoughts, Yusuke found that he had gotten closer. Holding up a hand in surrender, the detective tried to appear as unthreatening as possible. "You're very protective, aren't you?"

"It…" Amanuma felt his resolve falter at the question. Casting his eyes back to the floor he stared at a patch of linoleum tiling. "It's none of your business."

Turning at the sound of the door opening, Yusuke nodded in greeting to the slim blue haired nurse came in her, red eyes filled with worry. Yukina had been looking all over the hospital for the past hour trying to find the little boy that she had been put in charge of. He had slipped away when she had gone to get him some juice from the cafeteria, and the head nurse had not been pleased to find out that she had lost him.

"Amanuma-kun, you shouldn't be in here," she said, hurrying over to the boy and gently placing a hand on his shoulder and checking for a fever by pressing the back of her hand against the boy's forehead. Looking back at Yusuke she smiled a little, "You shouldn't be here either, Yusuke-san. You still need to rest. Your wound isn't completely healed…"

"I had to come up here and see this for myself."

"I understand," Yukina replied. Gathering Amanuma away from the bed, she kept a gentle hand on his thin shoulder. "I have to get him back to pediatrics…please rest, Yusuke."

"Give me five minutes."

Yukina nodded silently in response, ushering Amanuma in front of her. The boy turned back only once at the door to look at Itsuki, his eyes focusing on the man's hand which lay atop of the pristine white sheet. It was the same hand that had so often stroked his hair to get him to sleep after a nightmare, the same one that could be loving and gentle one minute, and then pull the trigger of a gun pointed at a target the next.

He had always tried to figure out Itsuki, why the man was so devoted to Sensui. Looking away from his guardian, he closed his eyes and let Yukina lead him from the room, back towards the warm light yellow room he had been given on the second floor of the hospital. For now all he could do was hope that the detective that had walked in wouldn't hurt Itsuki.

Back in the clean white room, Yusuke took a seat in the chair beside the bed, his head dropping into the cradle made by his hands as he hunched over. Watching the steady rising and falling of the line on the heart monitor, he felt his hand twitch as if to pull a trigger. He had a couple questions for the man lying in the bed before him. If it was possible, Yusuke was going to get to the root of the _boryokudan_ structure in the city, and he was going to start with this _saiko komon_.

TBC…

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A short chapter that will hopefully act as the lull before the storm. Burning Angels will begin to pick up it's pace soon enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to Self-Proclaimed Everything, RomanceNovelistYuki4563, and mystice for reviewing

Thank you to thoth-moon, Self-Proclaimed Everything, SPS-kun, BlueUtopiah, and PaintedDeath for reviewing.

**Disclaimer: I do ****not**** own ****Yu Yu Hakusho****; I make no profit from this story**

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Burning Angels  
by R. M. Weiss

Chapter 3:

Shafts of moonlight broke through the space between the shades and the window sill. Falling in a white glow across the sheets of the hospital bed and running straight into and up the walls on the far side of the room, they divided it in half. As the clock on the wall ticked by the seconds, mirroring the soft beeping of the monitors hooked up to the still form in the bed, Yusuke passed his hand occasionally across the thin line, breaking its flow.

He had been sitting the provided hospital chair for an hour now. Yukina had never come back to make sure he went back to his room. Most likely she had gotten her hands full taking care of the young boy that had been brought in with Itsuki.

No officer had yet come to guard the door either, and this bothered Yusuke to no end. A million reasons as to why ran through his mind as he glanced back to check the door. '_Did Koenma not get authorization? That's impossible…even if it's not to keep this guy under arrest, it could have been done as a security thing. Someone tried to kill him…or he tried to kill someone and then they tried to kill him_.'

Lines of concentration appeared on his forehead. His mind drifted away from his thoughts and back to the night he that had landed him in the hospital. Having gotten a tip-off from one of his many connections within the city, Yusuke had gone to finally make a bust on Sensui and his gang, bringing along Kurama, Hiei, and fellow officer Kuwabara in as back up. They had barged into the condemned warehouse down at the wharfs. Number thirty-two. It was large and rusting on the inside. Cold and damp, the warehouse provided the perfect hide out for the Seventh Shinobu-gumi; no one went to the warehouse ever, even the rats stayed away.

Yusuke had led his group into the belly of the beast without enough forethought. Running into a spray of bullets, he had been forced into cover. With a team effort, the detective's group managed to make it through the lines of _shatei_ and _wakashu _and in the very end, Yusuke had gotten to the top floor and the very back of the warehouse to face Sensui.

He could still see the man's smug smile as he faced Yusuke, dark eyes flashing in the light provided by the naked bulb that swung slowly over his head. He was sitting in an empty office, whose windows had long since blown out and furniture had warped and rotted from the constant sea breeze drifting in.

Yusuke had not seen Itsuki at first, the man slipping out of the shadows of the room the second the detective had made to level his gun. The sudden movement had surprised Yusuke, and had it not been for quick thinking he would have gotten shot right through the heart.

Itsuki had fought him with everything he had, pushing him back, out of the office, towards the railing on the top row. They had run through the semi-dark, up and down stairs, around long forgotten machinery, and every time the detective made to get a shot at Sensui who followed them slowly, Itsuki would appear.

Twice the green haired man had taken a bullet from the brown eyed detective's gun, and each time he had come back nearly stronger than the time before. They moved as if partners in a dance, a dance that stopped suddenly when Sensui called off his _saiko komon_. The _kumicho_ had then asked for Itsuki's gun, and shoved the man into the open elevator car the second he had come with in reach. He had sent the car to the bottom floor, Itsuki's protests heard echoing up from the elevator shaft as he tried to override the controls and get back to his leader.

Yusuke could still hear the man's voice in his head as he told him about his plans. How he had wished to ultimately dominate the criminal underworld, reconstruct the way the yakuza went about its business, and, above all else, live a normal life at the same time. He had pushed every one of Yusuke's buttons then, and only when he had the detective enraged did he level his gun at him.

In all the ballistics reports, it was clear that Yusuke had somehow managed to shoot first, hitting the kumicho squarely in the center of his chest. While the brown eyed detective had been shocked as he watched blood bloom on Sensui's chest, he could tell that the older man was not. In fact, he seemed almost serene as he fell to the ground.

The last memory Yusuke had of that night was Kuwabara being the first to find him standing over the cooling body of one of the most wanted men in their city. He had been told later that blood loss had caused him to black out, and only after all his operations were over did he recall getting hit by a number of Itsuki's bullets.

A sudden beep from the monitor by his side caused the detective to look up. He was no doctor, but he recognized the sudden series of spikes on the heart rate monitor to be signs of distress. Getting up as fast as he could, Yusuke reached across the bed to grab the call button for the nurse. Hands unresponsive and sluggish, he only succeeded in knocking the device on the floor.

Cold flesh closed around his wrist in a painfully tight grip. Jerking his head up, Yusuke's brown eyes went wide as he found himself looking into frantic, uncomprehending golden eyes. Itsuki was awake.

The _saiko komon_ thrashed in the bed under Yusuke's weight, setting off all the monitors attached to him. With his free hand he tried to remove the respirator that had been helping him stay alive after surgery. He did not know where he was or even who he was. All he knew was the blinding pain radiating from what felt like every cell of his body. The added weight across his abdomen did not help either, yet Itsuki did not have the strength to force the body sprawled on him away. Gripping tightly to the wrist in his hand, he sought for an anchor in reality that would bring him back.

He had been hurt before. Each time Sensui had been there to pull him back from the depths of pain and into the world of the living and healing. This time though, Sensui was dead. The person he had swore his life to, who he had given everything to, was dead and buried and could not help him this time. It was that pain which kept him from wanting to fully wake up when he felt consciousness begin to sink its claws into his mind.

The monitors continued to scream, deafening Yusuke in one ear as he tried to free his wrist from Itsuki's grasp. With his free hand, he pried at the fingers until they loosened, only to have them clamp down on his hand now. Maneuvering himself off the bed, the detective continued to try and shake free as his leg protested to the sudden movement and nurses rushed into the room.

"What are you doing here? This room is private," one of the nurses snapped, manhandling the startled detective towards the door. In her hast she did not notice he wore the usual hospital in-patient clothes, and manhandled him out of the room.

Yusuke stumbled into the hallway, catching his balance when he reached the wall across from the door. Feeling a hand steady him, he looked over, and found himself face-to-face with a very broad neck. "So they put you on guard, huh?" the detective asked.

Kuwabara was easily taller than Yusuke by a head, the carrot-top built big compared to the detective's leaner stature. His height made him stand out in the precinct, though he never really paid much attention to the differences between himself and the other cops. A 'lumbering-ox', as he had been dubbed by Hiei, Kuwabara was probably one of the most reliable officers on the force. Though he had a stubborn streak a mile wide, he was loyal to a fault and had an uncanny ability to sense things others couldn't, his hunches almost always correct.

Currently, Kuwabara was shoving papers, having just gotten back to work after being in the hospital himself. Like Yusuke, he had been unlucky enough to get clipped in enough places to require bed rest during their raid on the warehouse lair of the _boryokudan_.

"You got chased out of there pretty fast," the carrot-top said, clapping a hand down on Yusuke's shoulder to steady him. "How's the leg? We going to be able to go to the gym soon? I still have to beat your record you know."

"You're really eager to lose aren't you? I'm injured here, give me time."

"You should be resting still. Yukina said you already tore your stitches once," the blue eyed man said in a hushed voice. He strained to hear what the nurses were saying on the other side of the door.

Shrugging off Kuwabara's hand, Yusuke leaned back against the wall. "He woke up."

"What?"

"He woke up," the detective said again, brown eyes closing. "I was sitting there and everything started going crazy on the monitors."

Looking towards the closed door, Kuwabara frowned a little. "Koenma wants him to stay alive. He's our best chance at taking down Sensui's old racket."

"Yeah," Yusuke sighed, "he is." Even through the closed door, the screams of the monitors could still faintly be heard, and they bothered the brown eyed detective to no end. He'd been in hospitals enough to know sounds like those weren't good signs. All he could do now was wait and see what would happen.

Down twenty-blocks from the hospital, two off-duty police officers lay in a tangled heap of limbs upon their bed. Panting for the air they had starved themselves of, they rested for now, neither wanting to move away.

Stretched out on his stomach Kurama let one hand trail behind him and gently run through the spikes of his lover's hair. "Are you alright now?" he whispered, feeling a sweaty forehead press against his shoulder and a rush of warm breath let out in a sigh hit his back.

A soft squeeze to his hips was the only answer he got. Feeling a smile tug at the corner of his lips, Kurama turned a little to look at Hiei. The redhead could see the relaxation settling into his partner, noticing it most in the lazy way Hiei closed his eyes half-way, still seeking his grounding.

"Did it help?"

Closing red eyes the rest of the way, Hiei sighed and turned his face so it could bury itself in fiery colored hair. "Yes," he said, voice a little hoarse. His body still hummed with the adrenaline rush he had gotten mid-way into their love-making. It was a common thing when they were together like this, the shorter driving his willing lover into the bed hard enough to make the bed shake in its sturdy frame. 'Satisfaction of basic primal urges', the psychologist at the precinct said when Hiei had been forced to go there.

Koenma had all but ordered the black haired officer to seek out Botan's help when it was brought to his attention that Hiei was not handling the after-effects of harder assignments well. For three months, Hiei had been forced to go see Botan every Friday for two hours. She had given him an answer to his 'anger-issues' right away. The blue haired woman had gone in detail about similar cases she came across, and time and time again assured Hiei that there would be nothing wrong with asking Kurama to humor him when he was in one of his moods. She had been the first to suggest they should try sex after nerve wracking cases, insisting that it was a way for Hiei to find the grounding he needed—since going to the gym and letting off testosterone did nothing—in order to function properly again.

'_It's not strange or wrong. Some people just need to do that after trying situations. Sex is a basic need, and it reminds us that we're alive.'_

Shaking himself out of his musings, Hiei slowly rolled off of his lover. He stared at the ceiling for a little while before closing his eyes. The bed dipped under his partner's weight as Kurama sat up and stood on still shaking legs.

"I'm going to go take a shower, are you going to sleep?"

Responding with a soft grunt, Hiei stretched out a little more on the bed. There was no need for words between them. They'd already reached the point where they could hold a conversation just with a shared glance.

Kurama shook his head in amusement and gathered his clothes of the floor. Tossing them in the hamper by the door, he slipped into the bathroom that was attached to their room, looking back over his shoulder for a second at Hiei.

The dark haired officer on the bed listened to the sound of a handle being turned which was quickly followed by rushing water. With a heavy sigh, Hiei sat up and pushed his hair out of his eyes, fixing the ever-present bandana on his forehead. He recognized the 'come-hither' look in viridian eyes that had fleetingly looked his way. A barely perceptible smirk tugged at his lips as he made his way towards the bathroom.

He didn't feel the frantic need to claim the redhead any more, his fears abated with the rough love making they'd just finished. There was a different fire beginning to race through his blood now, making it simmer in his veins as he watched the closed door of the shower slide open and a pale hand stick out.

Kurama crooked his finger in a beckon, and with a wolfish grin Hiei responded.

Damn but his foxy was frisky tonight.

TBC

* * *

Thank you for reading chapter three. I'm sorry for the delay but school hit me heavy the past month so I was unable to update soon. Chapter four will be up shortly after the next chapter of Pressure is posted.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you to Self-Proclaimed Everything, thoth-moon, BlueUtopiah, and SPS-kun for your reviews.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho; I make no profit from this story**

* * *

Burning Angels  
by R. M. Weiss

Chapter 4:

"I'm sorry sir but you're not allowed back in. This is the intensive care unit, only family is allowed." Dressed in a starched white uniform, the nurse had the looks of an angel but the unyielding resistance of a solid old oak. Crossing her arms over her chest she set expression into a concealing mask. "He's been put into a drug induced coma. He won't be awake again until his lungs can function on their own and the doctor pronounces him stable."

Kuwabara drew a deep breath in through his nose. "This is really important though, I was sent here to guard his room."

"And you will…from outside the door. In all my years of working here I can assure you no one will be getting in except through that door, officer." She smiled a viper's smile. "I'll be glad to get you a chair."

Holding up his hands in defeat, the carrot top quickly shrugged his shoulders. "No, it's fine. I'll just go sit in the waiting room….Thank you ma'am." Quickly turning on his heel, he retreated towards the elevator. He would need to make a few phone calls and he didn't feel like whipping out a cell phone around the delicate machinery that was keeping a number of patients balanced on the thin line between life and death.

It had been only a handful of minutes since the last of the nurses had trickled out of Itsuki's room and then focused all their attention on keeping both him and Yusuke out. When two of the older nurses recognized Yusuke from his stay in the ICU a short number of weeks ago they had all but pounced on him and propelled him to the elevator and back to his room.

'_Drug induced coma…Koenma won't be happy to hear about this.'_ Kuwabara shuffled onto the empty elevator. Pressing the 'two' button twice he let his eyes rove across the ceiling of the metal box while he waited for the doors to close. He would make his call to Koenma first. Then, if he had time, he would go to the cafeteria and grab some food. Or maybe he would go down to the small bar and bistro five minutes away and smuggle some beer into Yusuke. Grinning, the blue eyed man scratched his chin where a now healthy growth of stubble was beginning to make itself known. _'I really need a shave,'_ he thought absentmindedly as the elevator car began to descend.

Stepping out when he reached the second floor he began searching his pockets for his cell phone. He strode down the hall as fast as he could without looking like he was in a rush. He had never liked hospitals, something about them always giving him the creeps and sending a cold chill down his spine.

Kuwabara followed the painted blue lines on the edges of the tiled floor to the exit. When the cold rush of air hit him as he pushed through the revolving doors he pressed his thumb against the plastic button on his phone. Bringing it up to his ear he began walking towards the bistro, hunching his shoulders against the biting wind.

No one answered at his boss's desk. Flipping his phone shut, the carrot top slid it back into the pocket of his heavy brown wool coat. It had been a gift from his sister three years ago and since then had gotten hardly any use. The only reason that he was wearing it now was because his favorite dollar-store army jacket had been torn to shreds by his neighbor's dog two days ago.

It had been a tragedy he would remember forever.

The bell over the bar's door jingled and the patrons all paused in their eating and drinking to look at who had entered their cozy little space. A few of the men at the bar gave nods or grunts of acknowledgement, recognizing Kuwabara almost instantly while others simply turned away and resumed their business. Not that it was of any consequence to the officer, he was only here for one thing. The all important drink that no Friday night sports game could be completed without.

"Three beers," he called to the bartender. Drumming his fingers against the wooden counter, Kuwabara watched the television across the bar. An anchorwoman was transitioning over to some smalltime reporter who was standing inside a musty concrete basement. He didn't need to hear what the mousy balding man was saying to know what had been found. For the past year police had been focusing a good portion of their efforts to wipe out the basement storage areas for the trafficking of humans.

It was just one more item on the long list of things the city's _boryokudan_ operated.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

The question startled Kuwabara and drew his eyes away from the television. For a moment, all he could see was blonde before it dawned on him to lower his gaze. Inside he sucked in a sharp breath. He recognized the kid from that night at the warehouse and from the dossier on Seventh Shinobu-gumi. His name was Mitarai Kiyoshi, a student who had gotten involved with Sensui's gang of his own free will. He'd never been arrested, never even had gotten a single speeding ticket. He was essentially the perfect teenage son anyone could ask for.

Except that he was yakuza.

Mitarai frowned slightly and cleared his throat, brows drawing together in concern. "Sir? You're spilling your drink all over yourself."

Snapping back to reality the blue eyed officer yelped and dropped the glass of beer he had been holding. He hadn't even realized he had ordered a fourth drink for himself while he watched the news. Shirt now stained and wet, he grabbed at a couple of napkins provided by a dispenser on the bar counter.

Mitari flagged down the bartender and got a slightly damp hand towel. "Here, use this," he offered, his frown vanishing when he received a 'thanks' for his efforts and the blue eyed man began using the towel to dry his shirt off.

"Careful where you step too…you dropped the glass."

Kuwabara stopped his frantic and futile attempt to salvage his shirt. Eyes going from the shattered glass on the floor to the stain on his shirt and finally to the blonde in front of him, he felt a slightly sheepish smile tug at his lips. "Uh—yeah, yeah thanks."

The blonde rocked back on his heels ever so slightly, masking a wince that the movement caused with a polite smile. "I just thought I'd see if you were okay…you were doing it for awhile and I couldn't help but notice."

"I didn't even know I ordered something to tell you the truth."

Mitarai shrugged his shoulders a little, his yellow sweatshirt barely moving. It was too baggy for him in all honesty. He had only bought it because the color had reminded him of one of his favorite things. Letting out a quiet sigh when an awkward silence fell between his companion and himself, he glanced at the television. "So…are all those beers for you?" he asked.

"Oh, uh," Kuwabara snatched the three unopened bottles off the counter, "no. Just bringing some to a friend." He let out a nervous sort of chuckle. '_Why am I talking to you? You put a bullet in me! You tried to drown me in that vat of water!_' Clearing his throat, the carrot top focused his gaze on the blonde. He had to know if the kid was simply messing with him, and remembered the night at the warehouse, or if he had no clue. "Hey, do I know you from somewhere?"

Blinking, the teen furrowed his brows again. "I don't think we've met before. Maybe we've just passed each other recently? I go to school around here…."

"I work around here," Kuwabara replied.

Mitari snapped his fingers, "That's it then. We've probably just seen each other coming home. Do you take the walkway above the old underpass four blocks down?"

Kuwabara hesitated, "Yeah," he admitted at last, "I go that way every day except Thursday."

"Why not Thursday?"

"I get out late on Thursdays and car pool with a friend."

Relaxing a little as the heavy discomfort had been lifted from the air, Mitarai eased a hand into the front pouch on his sweatshirt and discreetly rubbed the still healing wound across his stomach. "My name's Mitarai Kiyoshi. Everyone just calls me Mitarai though." He stuck his free hand out, another polite smile gracing his lips. He didn't bother asking for a name in return, if the older man wanted to give it to him then he would, if not, Mitarai doubted it would matter much since they'd probably never meet again.

The officer fidgeted for a moment, his hand clenching once, twice, at his side before he grasped the offered hand briefly and gave it a quick shake. "Ku-Kuro Kenji. You can call me Kenji." Kuwabara winced at his own lie, it sounded completely fake. 'Kenji' of all the names he could have picked, why did he pick Kenji? Perhaps Shizuru was right when she said he was watching too many wrestling re-runs.

"Kenji," the blonde murmured after a minute, aqua colored eyes studying Kuwabara's face. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too, Mitarai."

They stood facing each other quietly for a handful of moments before the blonde let out a little laugh, hugging his tender belly tightly when the sound caused a searing pain to rip across his abdomen. His smile held a grimace behind it, and it was all he could do not to double up on the spot and let out a little cry. "You should get going," he mumbled, clutching tightly at his stomach, his hand crating a bump in his sweatshirt. "Don't want to let the beer get warm on your friend."

Kuwabara fought with his conscience and lost. Setting the beers down on the table he put a hand on Mitarai's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Oh, I just had a small accident earlier. I think I hurt my abs."

"Car accident?"

The blonde shook his head. "Tripped down the stairs," he lied. "I was coming home from school and the apartment I live in is pretty high up. I missed a step and went skidding."

Kuwabara nodded slowly. "Done that myself a couple of times."

"Well from the way you were tipping that glass I can only imagine what your sense of balance is like," the blonde said, cracking a smile after a moment. "Sorry…I just had to rib you about that…It's been a long day…I'm a bit out of sorts myself."

"Don't let your day ruin your night."

Aquamarine eyes seemed to lose the heavy burden of sadness that had settled into them. "Same goes for you," Mitarai replied in a quiet voice just barely able to be heard over the din of the bar. Bowing ever so slightly he made to leave, "I should let you go. It was nice to meet you, Kuro Kenji."

"Likewise," the cop replied just as quietly. He watched the young man slip away back into the crowd and as he did so a phantom ache passed through his right side. He'd been torn up by the blonde's knife pretty good that night. In return though, he'd nearly disemboweled Mitarai. Not intentionally of course, but until tonight Kuwabara had wondered if the blonde had managed to escape with his life.

"Damn kid," he huffed after a moment, grabbing his beers again and sitting them securely inside his jacket. Slapping some money down on the counter he pushed his way out of the bar and back towards the hospital. It would be just like high school again, sitting in a room with Yusuke and sneaking in a few drinks to kill time while they talked about this and that. Granted this time they wouldn't be listening for the sounds of Yusuke's mother treading towards the room, but rather the quiet click of a nurse's shoes against linoleum tiles. It would be tricky but worth the buzz in the end.

Kuwabara took the stairs this time as he entered the hospital. By the time he reached Yusuke's floor he was out of breath—inside at the back of his mind a voice chided that he was out of shape too. Opening the heavy off-white door to the nearly empty hallway, the carrot top fixed his coat a little and stilled the bottles inside as best he could.

The walk to room three forty-three felt like a mile, and every nurse that turned a corner sent his heart into his throat. It was the old thrill. The feeling of doing something he knew was morally wrong and yet seemed acceptable on some level to him.

"Urameshi?" he called as he entered the two-person room. The old man that was in the bed closest to the door twitched in his sleep when Kuwabara spoke.

Seeing a side of the cloth divider between the two beds move, the carrot top grinned and crossed the room in three easy strides. He sat down heavily in the chair next to the elevated bed where Yusuke sat rubbing sleep from his eyes.

He checked his cell phone quickly before setting it to silent and placing it back in his pocket. With both hands now he carefully extracted the smuggled beers and set them down on the edge of the bed. "You've corrupted my morals," he said, grin staying in place.

Yusuke reached for the closest bottle and twisted the cap off with a quick flick of his wrist. "What morals?" he asked after a long pull.

The two friends and rivals shared a look before breaking into quiet laughter.

TBC

* * *

Sorry for the long wait. Real life has knocked me for a loop in the past months.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you to Neon City, Ainohimitsu, thoth-moon, and Self-Proclaimed Everything for reading and reviewing

Again I would like to express my sincerest apology for the long gap that has occurred between posts. This is inexcusable. Things will pick up once more after I finish the majority of my school work within the next few days.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho; I make no profit from this story**

* * *

Burning Angels  
by R. M. Weiss

Chapter 5:

It was that same sweet melody he'd heard three months ago—a crooning, haunting tone that hung in the air along with the smoke from the burning cigarettes in the bar. He had been sitting on one of the high stools that night, slumped over a sweating glass of bourbon. He hadn't noticed when a stranger pulled up a seat beside him.

"A White Russian," the stranger had said. It caught Kamiya's attention since no one who came to that bar ever ordered anything more complicated than a shot of tequila. He had made the mistake of looking over at the stranger then—his stranger, actually. Kamiya would not accept any other explanation as to why this particular stranger was at that particular bar on that particular night.

Closing his eyes he tipped his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and sighed. The radio whispering the haunting tune was quickly silenced by a scalpel being imbedded in its back.

The silence of the room was almost as nostalgic as the music had been. He had forgotten about the part of that night that had been spent in silence. At the time he'd thought nothing of it, after all, not everyone made noise these days, especially the controlling types.

That's what the stranger had been. Controlling. Controlling to the point the good Doctor was sure the man either had a god complex or an ego that was large enough to cover the city. He'd had no say in what happened after he suggested they retire to his bedroom. He'd been pushed up against the wall by his bed, his pants undone in the process. They hadn't bothered with any formalities. They didn't even take their clothes off.

Opening his eyes he let his chin fall forward and his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. The silence in the room was shattered by the crash of a folding chair. Kamiya sunk down to his knees, his hands fisting in his hair like writhing snakes. Pulling at the ebony locks he bit back an animalistic groan of pain—emotional pain, the worst kind. He had been to the intensive care unit an hour ago working on his latest patient.

A gunshot victim.

A comatose victim.

"Itsuki," he whispered. The Doctor had heard the alarms sound on the nurses' station when Itsuki's vitals had crashed and gone to help. He didn't know that it was his boss—his boss, yes. Itsuki would be his boss now that Sensui was dead, gone.—he had not heard about the shooting that was claiming headlines on the news. He had gone directly to work after the "meeting" and thrown himself into caring for his patients.

He raked a hand through his hair, the combed and teased locks mused and falling into his eyes. Brown eyes were red rimmed, his tie lying undone around his neck, his jacket half off his shoulders. He'd run to the storage closet since it was nearer than the bathroom. The janitor's bucket had proved just as useful as a toilet bowl when his stomach emptied itself.

This was all too much for the good Doctor to handle. He'd seen Sensui lying dead in a pool of his own blood. He'd seen Mitarai nearly disemboweled. Hadn't he had enough? He really thought he'd had enough by now.

Kamiya slumped back against the wall behind him. He wanted a drink. He wanted a glass of bourbon and music that lingered like cigarette smoke. He wanted to stumble out to a cab with a quiet stranger who ordered White Russians at a bar that served nothing more complicated than a shot of tequila.

Kamiya wanted to fumble with the keys to his door, wanted to fumble blindly in the darkness for his bedroom door. He wanted to be shoved against a wall with his pants around his knees. He wanted to fuck in a twisted sort of silence. He wanted to wake up to an empty bed and a pillow that smelled like cinnamon.

Kamiya Minoru wanted so many things—most of all, Kamiya Minoru wanted to forget everything he had seen.

Beyond the world of the storage closet, one man was having similar thoughts as he nursed a glass of bourbon. Koenma tipped his chair back slowly as and drummed his fingertips across the receiver of his phone. He was disappointed with the news of Itsuki's status. He had figured that, given Itsuki's reputation, the hospital staff would allow a guard to be placed on him at all times.

"Legal bureaucracy and paperwork," he murmured, and inhaled the rich scent of bourbon. On the far wall a plastic clock ticked away the seconds he had until he could leave for the night. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven—another whiff of bourbon—Four. Three. Two. One.

A quiet knock on the plywood of his door jerked him out of his thoughts. The glass in the police chief's hand clinked loudly against the metal of his desk.

"Sir?"

"Botan."

The blue haired stepped into the office. Dressed in plain clothes instead of the professional suit she wore during office hours she seemed to radiate a certain kind of comfort and self acceptance rarely found in people any more. "You shouldn't drink you know. It's bad for your liver."

Caramel eyes closed in acknowledgement. "You shouldn't work so hard," he countered, "It's bad for your health."

Botan felt a smile pull at the corners of her lips as she sat down on the edge of Koenma's desk. It was no secret around the precinct that they had dated on and off throughout the years, their romance born out of a deep friendship and trust they gave to no one else but each other. It was that trust that kept them together through the fifteen break-ups and sixteen get-togethers.

Crossing her legs and striking a thoughtful pose, the woman tapped her chin with a manicured fingernail. "I suppose I should drive you home. Can't have you running yourself off the road into a ditch, not with the new break in the Eighth Shinobu-gumi case."

The brunette stood slowly and began to pull on the jacket that hung over the back of his chair. He did not look at the glass of bourbon. If he looked on it then he would be forced to come face to face with something he wasn't sure he was ready for just yet.

"Aren't you doing to dump that?" Botan asked, wrinkling her brow. "It doesn't smell all that good...I don't know why you suddenly started drinking it.

A dismissive hand was waved at the glass before Koenma was pulling the psychologist away from his office and out of the confining walls of the precinct. He all but raced through the parking lot as soon as his feet hit the asphalt. When he reached his car he handed his keys to Botan without a word and quickly took over the passenger seat.

The blue haired woman watched him as she drove. "You're not yourself these days," she said. "You're always locked up I your office…or you're at a bar…Koenma, you know you can talk to me, right?"

Brown hair fell into unfocused eyes as he stared out the window at the passing city lights. Licking his lips, Koenma drew in a breath as if to speak only to let it out a moment later in a quiet sigh. He wouldn't burden Botan with his disjointed thoughts. It wasn't her job to help him sort himself out.

Shaking her head, Botan turned on the radio and raised the volume a notch. She hummed softly with the slow, haunting song coming from the speakers. Deciding to take the long way back to her boss's apartment she drove by the exit she normally would have taken and settled back in the slowly warming driver seat. So intent was she on driving that she didn't notice the tense look that came over her passenger's face.

Closing his eyes Koenma tipped his head back and let his bangs fall away from his face. He didn't want to keep tasting the rich bourbon he had drunk. He didn't want to think about the memories the haunting song brought back—memories of White Russians, cigarette smoke and silence, of a _wakashu_ that drank bourbon from a sweating glass.

Police Chief Koenma wanted many things—most of all, Police Chief Koenma wanted to forget a doctor who smelt and tasted like bourbon, and hung around his thoughts like the cigarette smoke in a bar that served nothing more complicated than a shot of tequila.

TBC…

* * *

Thank you again for bearing with the wait. Please forgive this short chapter. Transitions are always a little harder to write than most. Itsuki and Yusuke will show up again in the next chapter, along with a little more Hiei/Kurama.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you to thoth-moon, SPS-kun (thank you x2 for reviewing chapter 4 as well), NeonCity, and Hellwurm for reviewing.

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho; I make no profit from this story

* * *

Burning Angels  
by R. M. Weiss

Chapter 6:

He set his jaw and ground his teeth as he took one shaking step forward. Sweating palms felt slick against the metal bars at his side. Shaking fingers tightened reflexively as his body swayed off balance of its own accord. Green hair was slicked to the back of his neck by sweat and pain pinched the area around his golden eyes. Itsuki growled softly under his breath before making another erratic lunge forward.

"That's good," Kamiya murmured at his side. Lightly squeezing the _saiko komon's_ elbow the doctor urged him forward. It had been almost a month since his boss had been put into the hospital. Only a week since he had been woken up from his chemically controlled coma for the final time. In the weeks that had passed Itsuki's body had wasted away in bed, his once sleek build now too skinny and a great deal weaker than it had been before. Itsuki had agreed to physical therapy the moment he found that his legs were refusing to support his weight and for that Kamiya was grateful. He hadn't wanted to have to force the _saiko komon_ into anything. It felt wrong. It _was_ wrong.

Itsuki pulled his elbow from the doctor's grasp and leaned heavily against the bars in his hands. "This shouldn't be this hard. I was in-"

"You were in a coma for a month. Your muscles have atrophied. Your bones have lost some density. You can rebuild both those thing but for now you're going to need assistance."

A scowl curled the corners of chapped lips. "One month should not wreak this kind of havoc."

Kamiya's hands shot out again to catch Itsuki as he stumbled forward another step. "One month," he replied in a calm, low voice, "one month can do many things. Everyone is different. For you, muscle mass is retained through constant use. You lose it quickly if you don't exercise. It's alright though. We can fix that."

"You sound like Sensui. Always treating me like a child." The words were sharp and hit the doctor like the razor edge of a scalpel between the ribs meant to pierce the heart.

Taking a quiet breath in through his nose the brunette leaned over so it looked as if he was fixing the side of Itsuki's dressing gown. "Forgive me," he whispered as he brushed his hands against a bullet scar he knew existed beneath the thin cotton of the gown. It was just one of many but it had been one of the most deadly. Closing his eyes the doctor briefly bowed his head in respect. "Forgive me," he went on, "I know you're not a child. Accept my sincerest apologies for my insubordination, _kumicho-dono_."

Itsuki hissed, his breath being sucked in sharply between his teeth. "I am not-"

"Sensui is dead. You were his right hand. I speak for all the members of the Shinobu-gumi when I say you are the _kumicho_."

Golden eyes slid closed and Itsuki tangled long fingers in Kamiya's hair. He let the silky strands run through his fingers like water even as his nails scraped down the back of good doctor's scalp. He would allow himself this one quiet moment because he knew that no one would guess it as being anything more than a patient using his doctor to regain stability. Only Itsuki would know the treason Kamiya committed by calling him _kumicho_, and only the walls would bare witness to it.

"Doctor Kamiya?"

The brunette pulled away from Itsuki and gently steadied him with his hand. "Yes?" he asked, not even glancing over his shoulder at the flustered nurse who stood only a handful of feet away.

Clearing her throat the woman bowed politely. "I'm sorry but there are some men here to see you."

"I'm in the middle of a therapy session. If they could just—"

"Doctor Kamiya, it's the police."

Every muscle in his shoulders and neck stiffened even as he continued to assist Itsuki with taking another halting step. This time the good doctor looked over his shoulder at the nurse who had come to fetch him. He could have laughed when he realized who it was.

"Miss Yukina. I didn't recognize your voice. You'll have to excuse me for being brief." His voice was calm and pleasant like dripping golden honey. Reaching for his lab coat which hung over the far end of the metal bar he used the sleeve of it to hide the reassuring squeeze he gave Itsuki's hand. "I'll be with them in just a moment. If you could just watch my patient…?"

"Of course, sir." Yukina stepped forward and gently grasped Itsuki's abandoned elbow, one hand coming up to steady the man's back.

Satisfied that his boss was in good hands, Kamiya excused himself with the prompt bisque nature of any doctor and stepped out of the room. He closed the door firmly behind him and took a moment to push his hair back from his forehead into a more presentable slicked-back nature. The thirty steps to the waiting room came and went in the blink of an eye and before he had prepared himself he was asking a nurse where the police who wished to speak with him were.

The woman pointed discreetly at the three men who sat uncomfortably pressed shoulder to shoulder between a pouting toddler and aging geriatrics patient. The doctor swept his eyes over them and noted as many tiny details as possible.

The red head was the most relaxed, lounging more than sitting in his chair, a carefully neutral look on his face as he scoped the room. On his left the black haired officer all but wore a sign saying that he would rather be somewhere else. His face was guarded and he sat with his back ram-rod straight, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Kamiya almost smiled when he filed away the information—typical stances for ex-cons. Ex cons who were overconfident or overly hostile. Typical, typical, typical.

He choked on the chuckle he was about to let out.

Smirking, smoldering, eyes the color of bourbon set in a face as pale as a White Russian pinned him against the nurses' station. The doctor drew in a slip of air that hurt his lungs when he refused to let it out. Clearing his throat louder than necessary he pushed himself off the desk pressing into his back.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked. "I was informed you have some questions for me."

The three shared a look before Kurama rose slowly from his seat. "We actually were hoping to talk to you about one of your patients."

"I'm sorry but you do know there are doctor-patient confi-"

"It's nothing that will infringe on those rules, doctor. We just need to know about plans for his future medical attention."

Kamiya masked his frown with a pleasant smile. A smart ex-con. He hated those kinds. "There's a conference room down the hall that we can use. However if you'll allow me to meet you there in a moment it would be greatly appreciated. I have to retrieve my patient's files."

"We haven't told you the patient's name."

Brown eyes bored holes into the man who had spoken. Kamiya made it a point to stare into Koenma's serene gaze. The man was too calm and it set every one of the doctor's instincts on high alert. He didn't like the feeling that he got from staring at the brunette's eyes. It was as if he could see right through him—like he knew all his secrets.

Kamiya nodded curtly and gestured in the direction of the conference room. "I only have one patient you'd wish to speak to me about. Please go make yourselves comfortable. I'll be with you shortly."

Koenma watched the doctor leave, the rustle of the man's white coat imprinting itself into his mind. He was given no time to linger since Kurama followed on the doctor's heels only in the opposite direction.

"You two go ahead, I have to use the bathroom," he said, gesturing for Hiei and Kurama to find the conference room. "I'll find you."

Kurama's brow furrowed slightly and he looked to Hiei for a second opinion. When he received nothing more than a quiet grunt and shrugged shoulders he nodded his agreement. "Of course, sir."

He was already walking away before Kurama finished speaking. Taking the direction the doctor had gone in he began to go over every fact he knew about "Kamiya, Minoru M.D."

He knew that the man was called Doctor within the Shinobu-gumi. That he had gained his medical degree at one of the top schools in the country. That he had graduated first in his class. He worked in the trauma center of his hospital, doubling as an emergency surgeon and regular physician.

He knew that the Doctor preferred to be called by his surname. He liked bourbon—alcohol in general. He lived in a small apartment filled with cheap furniture. His bedroom was as impersonal as a blank canvas. He liked it when someone talked dirty in his ear. He liked being stripped of control. Information like that taunted the police chief. They were things only he could know, things that could never be put on paper or filed away into a computer. It was frustrating. Very frustrating.

Koenma reached out and grasped the back of the white coat in front of him. Pushing the door to an exam room open with his shoulder he propelled both of them inside and locked the door behind them. Releasing Kamiya once the door was secure he took his time sizing the doctor up. "You never said you were a doctor."

"You never said you were a cop," was the snarled reply. Kamiya paced the room like a caged animal, his dark eyes darting left and right to find some way of escape. He was abruptly cut off when a fistful of his hair was grabbed and yanked back. He never expected the kiss that followed.

Lips met in a brutal clash of skin and teeth that bruised and cut. The edge of the exam table bit into the front of Kamiya's legs as he was slowly being bent towards it. Twisting his fingers in Koenma's hair he hissed through clenched teeth and tried to slip out of the strong embrace.

Koenma felt a triumphant grin tug at the corners of his lips as he held the struggling doctor down. Allowing the wakashu a little more room to move he ground his hips forward against the doctor's ass. He was losing himself slowly to the warmth of the body in front of him. It was better than any effect from a drink—burned more than the hot whiskey that he gulped in shots on rare occasions. For one brief moment he allowed his hand to loosen its tight hold.

The lenience was all it took to give Kamiya the time he needed. Like a snake he rolled in Koenma's embrace and elbowed the man in the ribs. He didn't give the police chief time to catch his breath either. The second Koenma was doubled over the good doctor was shoving him back and away with as much strength as he could muster.

This was how Koenma was left staring blankly at an open door with an uncomfortable tent in his pants and bruised and bleeding lips. This was how Kurama found him after fifteen minutes in which Kamiya had cleaned up and gone to the conference room.

Kurama leaned in the doorway to the exam room with an amused smile playing at his lips. "Is everything alright sir?"

The brunette flushed red and hastily straightened his clothing. "Never better. Life's a bowl of cherries, Kurama."

"Yes, sir. Of course."

"Don't start with me. I'm not in the mood."

Green eyes sparkled with mischief. "We're all waiting for you in the conference room," he said after a heartbeat, deciding to steer the subject back into safe waters. "We were getting worried so I came to look. Doctor Kamiya told me I might want to check in here."

"It's not what you think it is," Koenma sighed, raking a hand through his hair to try and fix the carefully mousse tamed locks. He swallowed hard around a knot in his throat as he forced himself to not think about just what "it" was. "It" was something he was very sure was a result of too many months without sex. That had to be the reason he had done what he had. After all, hadn't he always had a fantasy about doing something in a hospital? His mind had seen an opportunity and seized it by the scruff of the neck.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts as he followed Kurama out of the room and down the hall. Taking a seat at the conference table he gave the ex-convict a grateful nod before forcing his attention on the quiet doctor sitting across from him. He had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

Down the hall in the physical therapy room Yukina was carefully helping Itsuki bend his legs through all the usual ranges of motion. She knew she'd never be able to help him walk, even with the assistance of the bars, so instead she had focused her attention on helping ease the pain in his legs and getting the atrophied muscles used to working again.

"How does that feel?" she asked, working her fingers into the back of Itsuki's calf. Unlike the other nurses she didn't feel the same fear that they reported when working with him. He was just a patient in her mind—a man who had gone through some terrible trauma and needed as much care as he could possibly get. Kuwabara had told her about Itsuki's record, about his associations with the crime organizations in the city. It didn't scare her though. In fact she found herself feeling more compassion for the _saiko komon_ than any of the other patients she occasionally helped outside of pediatrics.

Itsuki watched the blue haired woman's hands. He was amazed at how gentle they were—how they found every knot and kink in his muscles and deftly rubbed them away. He couldn't remember the last time that someone had done this for him. Even Sensui had drawn a line when it came to tenderness. In their line of work what room was there for such inexplicable acts of kindness?

He hissed as she hit a sore spot.

"I'm sorry, I won't do that again," Yukina said, instantly jerking her hands back and clutching them to her chest. She'd forgotten about the scars. They'd still be sensitive, especially the ones on the backs of his legs. They had gotten infected and taken much longer to heal. They probably were still pink with blood. Carefully she turned Itsuki's leg to get a better look. Touching one of the scars, Yukina frowned and traced the area around it. "This still doesn't look good." She lightly pressed her fingers to it. A hard bump—not the kind made by scar tissue—pressed back. She sat back on her heels. "Oh dear…I think…I think we should go get this looked at."

"Leave it."

Yukina jerked her head up. "I'm sorry?"

"Leave it," Itsuki replied, his teeth grit to bear the pain that lanced like molten lava down his leg. "There's something in it, leave it."

"But if there's—"

"I won't be back on bed rest!"

The loud yell and following crash brought two nurses from the other side of the room running over. Together with Yukina they helped steady the saiko komon who now lay flat on the floor, having tried to stand on a leg that could not support his weight. They cooed and whispered soothing words, recognizing the pinched expression on the man's face as pain.

"I'm going to go get a doctor. Could you two please run to the nurses' station and find me a pair of crutches?" Yukina asked the other nurses once she had Itsuki sitting in a plastic chair.

The two women murmured a quick reply and bowed politely before hurrying from the room. They were not overly concerned about their patient who was left unattended. The man had gone through enough therapy already. In fact in about five days he would officially no longer even have to come for physical therapy anymore. It was a blessing for them since they were beginning to get tired of his constant attitude.

Yukina politely excused herself once her co-workers left. "Please try not to move too much. If you get hurt on my watch Doctor Kamiya will be furious. I'll be back in a minute."

Gold eyes watched her retreating back as she left. Finally alone, Itsuki let out the low, hoarse curse he had been holding in. He dug his fingernails into the flesh of his palms as he fought off the pain in his leg. Of course there was a bullet still there. He'd felt it the moment he'd woken up. Now he devoted all his attention to it. He never noticed the brunette that walked gingerly over to him.

"Looks like you're finally awake."

Itsuki looked up. The first thing he could register was shock. Then anger. Hate. Pain. A twisted sort of amusement. He felt his lips curl into a bitter, tired smile. "I could have sworn Sensui took you down with him."

Yusuke leaned in, caging the _saiko komon_ with his arms, grabbing the chair and nearly bending the top corners in his hands. "He certainly tried….You gave me one hell of a run."

Gold eyes burned like fire. Staring into endless brown eyes he mapped out the contours of his reflection. His chapped lips cracked and began to bleed as he sneered. Yes. This was what he needed—a fight.

He needed his blood to begin to race.

He needed to feel anger in every cell of his body.

For Sensui.

For Amanuma.

For himself.

He needed to start living again.

After all, what room was there for a broken man in his line of work?

TBC....

* * *

I know I said there would be H/K in this chapter but the chapter itself started to get to long. It shall be in the next one. Thank you for reading.


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